


Filling in the Blanks

by emiv



Series: Companion Pieces to The Longer You Stay [8]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: F/M, Post-The Dark Knight Rises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emiv/pseuds/emiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They leave Gotham together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleeping Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of vignettes, short stories and 100-word drabbles set between [_Returning the Favor_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1079080) and [_The Longer You Stay._](http://archiveofourown.org/works/710551/chapters/1313489)

“Twin beds?”

This was what he got for letting Selina make the hotel arrangements. Bruce could feel her smirking from across the room.

“I thought it’d be best,” Selina replied, amusement poorly hidden in her voice. “Considering you're still in recovery.” She shrugged off her jacket and tossed it onto one of the two matching beds. Neither one of them turned on the lights.

“Is that right?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow. Selina hummed affirmative, tugging her hair out of its loose ponytail and letting it fall to her shoulders.

“We wouldn’t want those stitches to come undone.” She surveyed the room before turning back to him, smirk barely visible in the half-light. “And I’m a kicker.”

Bruce watched her disappear into the bathroom. He set the luggage down, closing the heavy door behind him. His eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The clock on the nightstand glowed green. It was late; the lobby had been all but deserted when they arrived. He should have been tired, but he wasn’t. His body hummed, still wide awake, still wired.

Bruce discarded his jacket on the back of an armchair; the stitches in his side twinged at the motion. _Limited physical activity for two weeks,_ the emergency room doctor had said. Bruce glanced at the bathroom door.

He wasn’t a fan of the restriction.

Bruce shook his head and wandered toward the large windows, pushing aside heavy curtains. The lights of Prague’s skyline flickered back at him. He held back a sigh as the tightness that seemed ever-present in his shoulders began to ebb.

The last week was a blur of preparations and planning, tying up loose ends. The morning he was discharged from the hospital, Selina disappeared; Bruce hadn’t asked why.

He figured she’d had her own loose ends to tie.

The next time he saw her was that morning at the ticket counter, eyes smiling behind a pair of dark sunglasses, lips painted red. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn't a little surprised she’d shown; he’d half-expected her to skip town.

She was full of surprises.

He watched the ripple of the city lights mirrored in the dark water of the river. He sensed her presence before she spoke.

“Homesick?” There was a teasing edge to her voice, but underneath it was something else. Something honest. She brushed against him on her way to the window sill. Bruce shook his head, gaze fixed on the dark horizon. Her perfume—shampoo—tickled his nose. He was becoming accustomed to the scent. He felt her eyes on him. “You sure?” she asked.

Bruce paused, listening to the sound of the bustling city through the glass, conscious of the warmth of her body so close to his. He focused on the skyline, searching for the pull, that constant tug that had forever tied him to Gotham. He chased the feeling, but it was fleeting. The last wisps faded. A smile tugged at his lips.

“Yes,” he replied.  
  
“Good.” Selina slipped between him and the window, leaning back against the glass. Bruce’s gaze drifted from the cityscape to the smirk playing across her lips. He found himself memorizing the shape of those lips, recalling the feel.

He leaned closer, city lights forgotten.

She slipped out of her heels, her eyes never leaving his face as she sunk into the carpet. A challenge lingered behind them. A tease. A game.

She reached out and nudged him away from the window. One step, then two. He let himself be led, inched backwards until they came to the edge of the nearest bed.

“Sit.”

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head. She reached up, hands settling on his shoulders with authority.

“So I can examine you,” she explained, pressing down on his shoulders. The bed creaked under his weight as he sat. Mischief danced behind her eyes. “Lay back.”

Intrigued, Bruce obliged, leaning back against the plush, if rather narrow, bed. He watched as she climbed over him with purpose, her weight balanced on either side his body, careful of his injured side. Bruce resisted the urge to grit his teeth, kept his face even. She was distracting. Once settled, she scanned him with a critical eye.

“First, let’s check those vitals.” She leaned down, her hair tickling his cheek as she pressed her lips against his forehead. He closed his eyes, breathed her in, his hands settling on her hips. She hummed.

“No fever,” she said. His eyes fluttered open as she retreated, leaning just far enough away to look him square in the eye. He held her gaze. He hadn’t realized how dark her eyes were until now. How easy they were to get lost in.

How lost he already was.

“Hmm,” she said, peering closer. “Slight dilation.”

Bruce snickered.

“I wonder why,” he replied. He opened his lips to speak again, but a quick finger pressed against them, silencing him. His lips twitched, teeth tempted to bite.

“Shh,” Selina said as she inched down again, leaning in until her lips pressed against the curve of his neck. Her tongue flicked against his skin. He inhaled sharply; his grip on her hips tightened.

“Pulse normal,” she said against his neck, the curve of her mouth pressed to his skin. “For now.” Her weight above him, the residual heat of her body, was fast becoming more than a distraction. His hands began to drift, wandering from her hips to her back. She caught his eye and shook her head.

“Stay still,” she ordered, her eyes gleaming. She scooted down, her weight still balanced on either side of him, careful of his injury. She pressed her head against his chest, listening, hair cascading around her. Bruce curbed the impulse to run his hand through it.

After a moment, Selina sat up, shifting her weight to his lap. She grinned, aware of the effect she was having.

“All clear.” Her hands wandered, reaching for the edge of his shirt, tugging it up. “Now, the moment of truth.” Her fingertips traced across his abdomen, outlining the bandage on his side. She worked the edge of the tape, lifting it. He didn’t wince, watching her face as she examined him. There was a rare softness around her eyes, a thoughtful purse to her lips. She glanced back at him, softness replaced by something more familiar, mischievous.

“Not bad,” she said, pushing the edges of the surgical tape back down, securing the gauze in place. “Still, wouldn’t want to take any risks.” She tugged his shirt back into place.

“I think I’d like a second opinion,” he replied, his hard-won patience unraveling.

“How about a compromise?” she asked, fingers still toying with the edge of his shirt. She slipped a hand underneath, raked her fingernails against his skin. He watched her through half-lidded eyes. “I’ll consider waiving the full two-week wait as long as—”

Impatient, he reached up with both hands, intent on bringing her closer. She was faster, catching his hands and interlocking their fingers. She pinned his hands to the bed.

“—as long as you stay perfectly—” she leaned in closer, her eyes locked with his, “—still.”

Bruce’s heart hammered in his ears. He flexed his fingers, still intertwined with hers, tightened his grip. She tilted her head, waiting for his answer. After a moment, he nodded.

“But tomorrow,” he said, leaning to kiss her neck, “we switch rooms.”

She closed the space between them, her silent laughter rumbling against his lips. 


	2. Technicalities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble was inspired by [this comment](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/5443277) by KLCtheBookWorm.

Selina glanced up from the paperwork in her hands, a single eyebrow raised.

“Married?”

“On paper,” Bruce clarified.  
  
 _“Married?”_

“It’s a good cover.” He had to work to keep his expression blank. “And, technically speaking, your idea.” A memory flashed across her face; Bruce caught a slight upturning of her lips. She locked eyes with him, trying to puzzle him out.

“For this to work, I’m gonna need a diamond,” she said, leaning close. _“A big one.”_

Bruce snickered.

“So long as it’s paid for.”

That old gleam twinkled in her dark eyes.

“Now, darling, where’s the fun in that?”


	3. Anything You Can Do

“Why do you insist on torturing the waiters?” Bruce asked, leaning back in his chair as he watched their latest one hurry, wide-eyed and blushing, away from their table. It was late, but the café buzzed, alive with the easy clamor of the after-dinner crowd.

Selina took a sip of her espresso.

“Whatever do you mean, _darling?_ ” When she said it like that, the term came off more mocking than endearing. Bruce shook his head. 

“The flirting,” he clarified. Her eyes danced over her the rim of her coffee cup.

“Don’t tell me you mind.” A smirk pulled at the corners of her red lips.

“No,” he replied, “but it is a little cruel.” Selina tilted her head, waiting for an explanation. “They can’t flirt back with me sitting here,” he continued.

“It’d help if you didn’t glare at them.”

Bruce frowned. He wasn’t aware he’d been glaring.

“Don’t be bitter,” she said, a teasing edge to her voice, “just because you’ve lost it.”

Bruce sat straighter, raised an eyebrow.

“Lost it?”

Across the table, Selina hummed, nodding as she set her cup back on its saucer.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you're no playboy anymore.”

“Is that right?”

“Not that I don’t find you appealing, obviously.” Her smirk was wider now, her gaze traveling over him with purpose. “In that dark, broodish sort of way.”

“But?”

“But you just do not have that kind of game anymore.” False apology rung in every syllable. “Don’t worry. You have many other attributes that make up for it.”

Unsatisfied, Bruce leaned back in his chair, meeting her eyes. She stared back, her hands playing with the little white coffee cup, a smudge of lipstick tinting the rim. He drummed his fingers against the table. An unspoken challenge lingered between them. He felt the edge of his lip twitch.

_OK,_ he thought, the barest tingle of adrenaline humming in his fingertips. He glanced out over the bustling café full of unfamiliar faces. He scanned the room, his gaze settling on an occupied a table on the other side of it. He stood, buttoned his suit jacket and leaned over the table.

“Enjoy your dessert,” he told her, an easy smile crossing his lips. Her eyebrows arched as he pushed his chair back under the table. He could feel her gaze on his back as he weaved through the tables and around hustling busboys and waiters to the other side of the café. He slowed, approaching the table in question. A pair of women, young and blond and American, looked up, eyeing him with curiosity. His old fake smile returned with ease, lips twitching with the familiar muscle memory.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Bruce began. “I couldn’t help but overhear...you wouldn’t be from the States, would you?” When they responded affirmative, he continued, forcing his smile wider, hoping it reached his eyes. “What luck. It’s rare to come across anyone from home. Mind if I join you?”

The two women blushed and giggled and offered him a seat at their table. He glanced over at Selina, who rolled her eyes and went back to her coffee.

He waved over a waiter, ordered a round of cappuccinos and turned on the charm.

The conversation was simple and tedious. He went on autopilot with smiles and compliments, telling clever, pointless stories and anecdotes. Habit and practice had him smiling in the right places, feigning interest in all manner of nonsense topics. The two woman proved to be a captive audience, legs crossed in his direction, the occasional flip of the hair. All bright smiles and shining eyes as they leaned close, hanging on his words. Bruce tried to keep the triumph off of his face.

He wasn’t interested, of course, but they were. And that was the point.

A light laughter drifted across the room. Bruce glanced back to see Selina engaged in her own lively conversation. Their dark-haired young waiter was less blushing and more bold than before. She’d stepped up her game too; lowered lids, head tilted, a wicked red smirk that held promises behind it. She caught Bruce’s eyes from across the room, holding for a second before looking away again.

He could have sworn she’d _winked_. 

Bruce snickering to himself softly before returning to his own lively, if empty, conversation.

The next time he glanced across the café, the table was empty, being cleared by a busboy.

Bruce scanned the area.

She was gone.

So as the waiter.

He frowned. A moment later, he was making a show of checking his watch and giving his apologies. He left enough cash on the table to more than cover the bill, flashing a final fake smile at his new friends before excusing himself and heading for the exit.

The walk to the door was farther than he remembered.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk, loud and bustling with locals and tourists alike. Cars and taxis sped by on the dark street. He glanced down one end, then the other, scanning the sea of pedestrians, but there was no sign of her.

Bruce’s frown deepened. He was about to head back to the hotel when he heard a soft, dark laughter behind him. He turned to see Selina leaning against the café wall, alone, her silhouette outlined against the shadow of the building. Her long jacket was tied at the waist, her hands stuffed in the pockets against the chill of the night air. Bruce sighed, letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The smirk on her lips reflected in her eyes.

“You made your point,” she called out as he approached, sidestepping passersby as he made his way to her.

“So did you,” Bruce replied, melting beside her into the shadows that clung to the building. Selina shrugged, reaching out to idly trace the lapel of his jacket. Her eyes narrowed as she inspected the stitching of his suit.

“Guess I don’t like to share.” Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his jacket. She tugged, pulling him closer. He let himself be swayed. Her breath warmed him, the air around them held traces of hazelnut, perfume, the now-familiar smell of her skin. Bruce tilted his head, lips hovering inches from hers. He felt himself smile.

“Neither do I.” 


	4. In Sleep

He measures the seconds by the beat of her heart, feels its rhythm against his wrist. His arms drape lightly around her; her hair tickles his face.

He doesn't get to protect her when she’s awake; she does a fine job of protecting herself, armed with sarcasm and charm and a mean right hook.

She shifts closer, her body warm against his, breath steady, even. 

When she wakes, when the weight of the world comes rushing back, when she forgets she’s safe, she’ll pull away. But until then, he waits, lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of her heart.


	5. Bubble Baths and Travel Plans

Hot water soaked into his tired muscles, easing away years of tension. Bruce closed his eyes, letting himself slip a little further down into the tub. Hints of jasmine wafted up with the steam. He breathed in deep, then let out a sigh. Soft laughter drifted to his ears.

“And you said baths were a waste of time.” Her smooth legs draped careless over his, knees peaking out of the bubbly water. Bruce skimmed a lazy hand down the length of them.

“Technically, they are.” His voice sounded far-away, even to him. Unrecognizable. “They are also inefficient.”

“They’re not supposed to be efficient,” Selina replied, prodding him with one of her feet. “They’re supposed to be relaxing.”

Bruce hummed, keeping his eyes closed as he let out another long, satisfying sigh. Selina stirred. Bruce opened his eyes in time to watch her sit up. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun; a few dark tendrils escaped, curling at the nape of her neck.

“And what do you think now?” She swept away a patch of bubbles as she moved across the tub. Bruce leaned up, meeting her halfway.

“I’m beginning to see the appeal.”

“I thought you might.” A glimmer twinkled behind her eyes, her lips curved in a sly smile; Bruce found his gaze fixed on those lips as he leaned closer. Soapy water sloshed over the edge of the tub.

After a few moments, they parted. Selina sighed, reaching up to run wet fingers through his hair. He inched back, meeting her eyes. There was something warm behind them, something new.

“You need a haircut.”

Or not.

“Do I?” Bruce leaned back against the smooth porcelain of the tub, amused. “Why? Don’t I look rugged and handsome?”

“No, darling. You look homeless.”

“Fitting, then.” He glanced around the elegant hotel bathroom, all gold and marble. His gaze traveled out the door to the lush suite beyond. It was nice—they were always _nice_ —but it didn’t feel like anything like a home. “What would you say to finding a less transient arrangement?”

“Tired of living like a gypsy?”

“Kind of,” he admitted. It’d been refreshing, wandering around Europe with no set destination. Prague and Vienna. Barcelona and Paris. There was something to be said for waking up in a different city, getting to start fresh from one day to the next. But after two and a half months of living in hotels and honeymoon suites, much of the initial charm had worn off. “I wouldn’t mind staying in the same place for a little while.”

“Hmmmm.” Selina turned, settling back against his chest. His arms came to rest around her. She shifted a moment before getting comfortable. “Where did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Venice?” He paused, eyes focused on the strands of her dark hair. “Maybe Florence?”

_“Italia?”_ she asked in an exaggerated accent. _“Bueno.”_

_“Buono,”_ he corrected. “ _Bueno_ is Spanish.”

“What can I say? I took French.”

“Did you?” Bruce had heard her speak bits and pieces of it as they’d traveled through Provence. He glanced down over her shoulder; a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“No.”

Bruce shook his head, unable to keep from smiling. “You fake it well.”

“I fake a lot of things well.”

“Hey,” he said. She laughed, the sound rumbling against his chest.

“So, why Italy?” She stretched her hands out in front of her, examining her wrinkling fingertips as she continued to use him as a backrest. Bruce kept his tone light, his voice even.

“Why not Italy?”

“I’m sensing an ulterior motive.”

Bruce shrugged. “They have good coffee.”

Selina looked back over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t drink coffee.”

Bruce leaned down, his lips brushing against her neck. The water was still warm, but he swore he felt a chill run down the length of her arms.

“I don’t take baths either,” he said between kisses, smiling against her damp skin. 


	6. Breakfast and Other Mysteries

"You cook?"

"Don't get excited," Selina said, lighting the stove in their new apartment. "It's just eggs."

As it turned out, Selina was surprisingly good at cooking eggs. Fried. Scrambled. Poached. Hard-boiled, soft-boiled. Benedict. Florentine.

"Why eggs?" Bruce asked one morning.

Selina shrugged, dishing an omelette, dripping with cheese and stuffed with caramelized onion, onto a plate.

"I've had a lot of practice." Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Eggs are cheap, Bruce."

_Ah._

"I also make killer mac-and-cheese,” she added. “And can turn Ramen noodles into something almost edible."

"A woman of many talents."

Selina grinned.

"Baby, you have no idea." 


	7. Things That Go Bump

Bruce stares up at the pale ceiling, fighting to catch his breath. Above him, the ceiling fan spins hypnotic, flashing in the faint light. He blinks, the floor hard and cold against his aching back.

_The floor?_ Bruce looks around, disoriented. Breathing, heavy and erratic, reaches his ears.

“If you didn’t want to get up, all you had to do was say so.”

He can hear her smirk.

“Selina?”

The tension in his muscles begins to dissipate, adrenaline fading as he gradually wakes up.

“You know, for a second there, I thought you’d lost it.” Her words are easy, teasing, but there’s something off in her voice. Bruce pulls himself up onto his elbows and looks over at the bed. He squints, making out her face in the darkness. It’s relaxed, but he can read the tension in the line of her body. She’s crouched on the bed, sheets askew, hair disheveled, a hint of wild in her eyes. Ready for a fight.

_No,_ he thinks, _the aftermath of a fight._

His confusion evaporates like smoke, replaced by a sinking feeling, deep in his chest.

He pulls himself to his feet and leaves the room.

Bruce can’t stay in the apartment, so he goes for a run. His knee hates him for it, but he goes anyway. He takes a path along the river, focusing his mind on the steady thud of his footfalls in his ears, letting the rhythm beat away his thoughts.

After a few miles he stops, out of breath. The sound of his heartbeat drowns out the rush of river water, the faint, early morning bustle of Florentines starting their days. It’s a long while before he turns around.

The sun is up by the time Bruce gets back. He heads straight for the shower and stays there until the steam is thick and he is waterlogged. For the rest of the day Bruce buries himself in spreadsheets and logistics, using numbers and formulas as a distraction for as long as it works.

He doesn’t see Selina again until late afternoon. She comes in with shopping bags on both arms, settling down next to him on the couch with a huff. He doesn’t look up; she doesn’t notice. She pulls something from a bag. The buttery smell of the croissant reaches his nose. She recounts her day as she tears it apart. She talks about the weather, complains about a shop girl in the village, mentions a new place she’s scouted out for them to try for dinner.

Bruce’s eyes remain on his computer screen. She leaves the rest of the croissant on the table for him.

He spends the night on the couch.

The next day, he goes out longer, runs farther. His muscles scream at him, reminding him how out of shape he is, but the pain is better than thinking.

He spends another night on the couch.

Selina doesn’t say anything about his new sleeping arrangement. Neither does he. Two nights become three, then four.

Bruce’s back is stiff and his knee aches, but he doesn't consider sleeping anywhere else.

He's just settled in for a fifth night on the couch when hears a long, exasperated sigh.

“Enough is enough.” Bruce hears footsteps come up beside the him, can feel her standing there, but he keeps his eyes closed. She lets out a short huff. “You’re not asleep.” Bruce doesn’t move. She pokes his shoulder twice. He squints, opening his eyes. He sees her standing over him in the dim light, hands on her hips, lips set in a hard, determined line.

“Up.”

Bruce surprises himself when he complies, pulling himself up to sitting.

“Scoot,” she adds, nudging him over to make room on the couch. She sits beside him. He watches as she pulls her legs up, crosses them. He’s never seen her do that. The air in the room is chilly, but she’s radiating warmth; Bruce has to stop himself from leaning closer.

“Done giving yourself a timeout?”

Bruce doesn't answer, training his eyes on the wood grain of the coffee table. He follows it down to the uneven pattern of the rug, focuses on the ticking of the far-away clock in the kitchen.

Anything but her.

“You’re being an idiot.”

If Bruce didn’t know better, he would have sworn he heard affection in her voice.

“This is how it has to be,” he says.

“Bullshit.”

“I can’t control them.” Something loosens in his muscles once he finally says the words. It’s the truth; the nightmares have been with him for almost as long as he can remember. He’d learned to live with them, he’d accepted them. They’d never harmed anyone but himself. Of course, no one had ever tried to wake him up from them before.

He’d also never shared a bed.

“How long?”

Bruce’s lips twist into a smirk.

“Only the past thirty years.” The words burn in his throat. “You might want to get some ear plugs.”

Selina snickers.

It’s not the reaction he expected.

“I’ll look into it.” She unfolds her legs and stands, holding out her hand. He glances at it and shakes his head. He waits for her to leave. Soft fingertips come to rest under his chin, tilting his face up. Her dark eyes stare into his.

“You're not going to hurt me.”

“I could.”

“But you won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Sure, I do.” There’s an easy confidence in her voice, trust behind her eyes. He tries not to believe it. “Besides, I could take you.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“You bet your ass.” Selina nudges his shoulder. “You’re not so tough.”

He fights a smile. She fights a yawn.

“Now, bed?” She offers him her hand again. This time, he takes it.

They’ve taken two steps before Bruce stops short.

“Selina...” He struggles over the words. “If I...when I get like that, you know, you can’t—”

Her fingers press flat across his lips, silencing him.

“No waking the sleeping beast.” There’s a gleam in her eyes. “Got it.”

Bruce smiles against her fingertips. He holds her gaze as long as she’ll let him.

She breaks away first, shaking her head and reaching for his hand, pulling him with her to their bedroom.

 


	8. Pièce de Résistance

“It’s not nice to lurk.”

“Was I?” Bruce stepped out, coming into view of the mirror. Selina’s reflection nodded, a smirk crossing freshly-painted red lips. Bruce frowned. “It’s missing something.” 

“Since when are you an expert in fashi—” Selina looked up, her gaze settling on the pearls curling around his fingers.

“Thought you left everything behind.”

“Not everything.” 

“Aren’t we sentimental?”

“I have my moments.” He leaned close, breathing her in as he fastened the pearls around her neck. Her fingertips ran along the string. 

“Why?”

Bruce looked up, his eyes catching hers in the reflection. He shrugged.

“They’re yours.”


	9. A Cure for Boredom

“The Uffizi?” Bruce suggested. Selina shook her head. The museum had been breathtaking the first time, lovely the second, but by the fifth, the charm had begun to wear thin. It felt like they’d visited every museum in Florence at least twice.

It felt like they’d seen _everything_ in Florence at least twice.

“I think I’ve had enough art for now.” She sidestepped an uneven bit of sidewalk. “Unless you’re suggesting something more...after-hours?” Beside them, the river churned on, turning from green to gold in fading afternoon sunlight. “The Birth of Venus would look fantastic over the bed.”

Selina imagined rather than heard Bruce scoff.

“The outer walls of the courtyard wouldn’t be hard to scale,” he replied as they continued their walk, “though I imagine security is rather tight.”

“Child’s play.” They weaved around the thin crowd of people, wandering away from the busier area. “No more tourist spots,” she said, taking a sip from the coffee cup in her hand.

“Agreed.” A strong gust of wind rushed past. Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets. “What about the symphony?”

“Again?” Selina shook her head. “The opera?”

“Never.”

Selina chuckled. She wasn’t a fan of opera herself, but it always amused her how quickly and decidedly her blue-blooded companion shot the idea down.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, neither one offering another suggestion. She tugged her scarf tighter as the sun set; a chill of winter still lingered in the air. They passed now-familiar cobblestone streets, full of sights and sounds that had long become old hat.

She stopped by the river wall, leaning over to watch the water as it darkened in the twilight.

“Face it, Wayne, we’ve seen just about everything there is to see in this city.”  
  
It wasn’t entirely true, but after two months in Florence, a lot of the newness of the old city had worn off. She was fine with staying put for a while—her growing wardrobe was a beast to lug around—but without new places to see and new things to do, boredom was beginning to set in. Selina frowned.

Bruce didn’t reply, pausing beside her, his dark eyes taking in the river. They spent a minute in companionable silence, listening to the rush of water, the sound of the far-away crowds.

“I may have an idea,” he said at last, still staring out at the water. Selina glanced over at him; she could have sworn she saw the corner of his lip twitch.

“Do tell.”

Bruce shook his head, looking back at her.

“No,” he said. “I think I’ll keep this one a surprise.”

“And what if I don’t like surprises?” Selina asked, taking his offered arm as they wandered back in the direction of the apartment. She caught a crinkle at the corner of his eye, a poorly suppressed smile on his lips.

“Oh, I imagine you’ll adapt.”

Her own words coming back to haunt her. Selina held back a chuckle. “Touché, Mr. Wayne,” she said, shaking her head. “Touché.”


End file.
